


my dear, melancholy

by theadamantdaughter



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Astral Plane Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff with Angst, Not A Happy Ending, shallura - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 05:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14395716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadamantdaughter/pseuds/theadamantdaughter
Summary: i had a way too late shallura thought about the astral plane and if time worked differently there and maybe shiro gets these little moments where he’s somewhere else, in some other future or reality.





	my dear, melancholy

_My dear._

_My darling. My love._

The things he can say here, unrestrained by space, unchained by time. Within the black expanse, among the crystal specks of stars dotting eternity with pink and purple and white— oh, the things he can say here.

_My Allura._

He calls out to her. White hair like billowing clouds catches a breeze he cannot feel, but he takes a single step forward and he’s there with her. Sweet, green palms and salty sea-spray and tangible humidity whisk across his skin. Sunset-stained skies. The winds of summer. The smell of her.

It’s Earth. It’s her. It’s home.

 _My Allura_ , he says again, lips to the shell of her ear. _My dear, Allura._

She returns his whispered affection with a kiss, with a hand on the small of his back, the other over his heart. She runs her nose along his jaw, buries her face in his neck like she can somehow inhale him if only she tries hard enough. She tells him things, tender things.

Among them: _I’m happy you’re here, Takashi, and if that makes me selfish—_

_—I’ll let you be selfish._

He puts his hand over hers, entwines fingers made of flesh with the warmth and realness of her chestnut skin, her pure quintessence. And he holds on, because he can count in the endless stars the many times he’s lost her, the abundant realities and futures and lifetimes in which he’s gone without her.

He holds on… because, like always, the breeze tickling her nose no longer tickles his. Like always, her brightness fades and he’s left alone, staring out at the constellations that constantly give her and take her and torture him.

 _My Allura_ , he whispers. _My dear, Allura. When will I hold you again?_


End file.
